


Hold Me Still, Bury My Heart Next To Yours

by thefairfleming



Series: Duty's End [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/pseuds/thefairfleming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So honey_wheeler and I were talking about Fics We Have Not Written, and she mentioned this idea she had of Jaime/Brienne and Jon/Sansa setting up house somewhere beyond the wall once all the events of the books were over, and they'd sort of jokingly call the place "Duty's End," and it would basically be a place where all the characters we love could just be HAPPY FOR ONCE IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK, GRRM? And so naturally, I was like, "Well, that's the greatest idea ever, can I play in that sandbox?" And because honey_wheeler is a scholar and a lady, she said yes, and I wrote this. Thus endeth the longest author's note ever. (Oh, and title from Mumford and Son's "Ghosts That We Knew.")</p>
    </blockquote>





	Hold Me Still, Bury My Heart Next To Yours

**Author's Note:**

> So honey_wheeler and I were talking about Fics We Have Not Written, and she mentioned this idea she had of Jaime/Brienne and Jon/Sansa setting up house somewhere beyond the wall once all the events of the books were over, and they'd sort of jokingly call the place "Duty's End," and it would basically be a place where all the characters we love could just be HAPPY FOR ONCE IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK, GRRM? And so naturally, I was like, "Well, that's the greatest idea ever, can I play in that sandbox?" And because honey_wheeler is a scholar and a lady, she said yes, and I wrote this. Thus endeth the longest author's note ever. (Oh, and title from Mumford and Son's "Ghosts That We Knew.")

The kiss happens unexpectedly.

It's customary for him to spend his evenings at Sansa's side. Truth be told, now that she's returned to him, he could spend every moment at her side, and Jaime once teases him that only Jon's direwolf follows Sansa more loyally than Jon's eyes.

They exist in a strange sort of limbo here, no longer siblings, but not bound together the way that Jaime and Brienne are. They are more than friends, less than lovers, and for a very long time, Jon tells himself that he doesn't want her. But every evening she sits glowing in the firelight, every night he watches Jaime and Brienne retire to the room that they share and wonders how it would feel to link his fingers with Sansa and pull her into his bed, makes it harder for Jon to lie, even to himself.

Still, he would never act on such a desire. She has come here to be safe, to live knowing that the only family she had left would die to keep her so. Jon would not disturb that peace for her.

So he sits by her night after night and tries not to notice the soft curve of her lips, the sweet swell of hip and breast. He tries to ignore the drumming of his heart when she tends his wounds and kisses his brow. He tries not to hear the muffled sounds of Jaime and Brienne in the night, not to imagine Sansa underneath him, his cock buried inside her. 

He keeps his desires to himself, and until she turns to him one night and sweetly insinuates herself into his arms, it never occurs to him that Sansa may have desires of her own.

How or why it happens, he never fully understands. One moment, they are in the kitchen together, side by side. She is kneading the bread for the next day, and he is meant to be cleaning the table, but that's only an excuse to be next to her. And then she simply sighs, pushes the dough away, and suddenly she is there, her hands on his shoulders, her mouth on his. 

There is a moment, barely more than a heartbeat, where Jon is too stunned to respond. But when her tongue almost shyly touches his lower lip, any doubts or hesitations flee Jon's mind. His rag hits the floor, and he pulls her up against him, too tight, too hard, he should be slower, gentler, but he can't, gods, he _can't,_ can only kiss her and _kiss_ her and kiss her with all of the longing he's denied himself for months.

They're desperate, both of them, the kiss too hot and too needy, but every time he tries to draw away, she pulls him back, both with her hands and soft, pleading sounds that threaten to break his heart. She's wrapped around him, hands in his hair, and his arms are twined around her slender waist, wanting her closer, closer than two people can be while standing fully dressed in a kitchen. 

Perhaps it's that thought that has him walking her backwards until her hip hits the table behind her. But as it does, one of the smaller bowls she'd had out topples to the ground with a crash. 

"Lady Sansa?"

It's Brienne, calling from the next room, and Sansa is suddenly out of his arms just as quickly as she'd leapt into them. 

They stand there, staring at each other and breathing hard. Sansa's face is flushed, and her lips look almost bruised. Jon has no idea how he looks, but he imagines it's as mad as he feels. 

"I'm fine, Brienne," Sansa calls, and her voice only sounds the littlest bit strangled. "Just a bit clumsy." She glances at Jon one more time, but he can't read what's in those blue eyes. Then she steps back to the table and resumes work on the bread. 

Jon's hand flexes at his side. Now that he's not touching her, not tasting her, he can think a little more clearly. "Sansa, you know you don't...I didn't bring you here so that you would-,"

Sansa cuts him off with a slightly breathless laugh. "Is that what you think I was doing, Jon? Repaying your kindness with kisses?"

He doesn't answer, and she looks over at him, tucking her hair behind one ear. She studies him for a long while, and Jon, who could never read Sansa's moods when they were children, understands that's she's weighing what she'll say next. "Perhaps that's what I would have done before I came here," she says at last. "Perhaps that's what Alayne Stone would have done."

Sansa steps closer again, her hand cupping his cheek, and Jon inhales sharply, both at her touch and the expression on her face. "But I am Sansa Stark again. And you are Jon Snow. And here, we do not do anything we don't wish to do, isn't that so?"

All Jon can do is nod and a tiny smile crosses Sansa's face. She lifts her face, kisses his cheek so softly and so sweetly that Jon thinks he would fall in love with her had he not already done so long ago. "I only kiss men because I want to now, Jon," she whispers. "And I have wanted to kiss you for a very long time."

With that, she moves past him and out of the kitchen.

The rest of the night, Jon cannot say much of what happens. He knows that he sits in his chair by the fire. He knows that Jaime asks him questions about their training that day and that he answers, but what is actually said, he does not remember. Sansa and Brienne talk for quite some time, but while Jon could inform anyone on how sweet Sansa's voice sounded, how beautiful her mouth was when she smiled, the actual content discussed escapes him entirely. 

Finally, the fire burns low, and Brienne announces her intention to retire. Sansa decides to do the same, and while her good-night to Jon sounds just the same as it has every night since they came to "Duty's End," there is an altogether different look in her eyes this night.

"Well," Jaime says, draining the last of his wine once the women have departed, "I do not plan to keep my lady waiting any longer, Lord Snow. I suggest you attend to yours as well."

Shaken out of his reverie, Jon can only look at the other man, wondering if he's gazed at Sansa like a simpleton all evening.

But then Jaime simply claps his good hand on Jon's shoulder, leans down and murmurs, "There's flour in your hair, my boy."


End file.
